Thursday, November 30, 2006

Hooray for the Whitby Gazette! Sometimes life in North Yorkshire seems terribly unglamourous, but then you read news like this: A pint of bitter - shaken but not stirred. This is the gripping news that the new James Bond actor, Daniel Craig, visited these parts when he was in an episode of Heartbeat (retro police drama filmed in this area) - as recently as 1993! The conclusion of the article sums up the grand scale of this showbiz revelation:

But although at least two present Goathland residents were acting as extras in Heartbeat at that time they have no recollection of Mr Craig.Whitby Gazette correspondent Monica Urquhart was an extra in Heartbeat stories from 1991 until about five years ago.She doesn't remember the episode but among her recollections as an extra was one when they recorded a carol service in St Mary's Church.And she agreed that it's probable Mr Craig will have also been in St Mary's for the filming of the episode he appeared in.Resident Peter Wainwright has appeared in 191 Heartbeat episodes but he cannot recall the Daniel Craig one either.

In other words, this actor who is in one really big movie, once came to this part of the world and probably came to St Mary's Church in Whitby, but nobody remembers a thing about it.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

This issue of Muslim dress isn’t going away fast. One of the issues that frustrates me so much is the assumption that women who wear the niqab or the burkha or any kind of head dress don’t have a choice in doing so. This touches one of the most sensitive issues in feminist discourse.

Feminism, as with all movements for equality, is primarily about maximising the number of choices people have – to achieve equal opportunities for men and women. This principle has caused much difficulty for the simple reason that we don’t always approve of one another’s choices. Most of the arguments that continue to surface among feminists are very often triggered by an argument that there are some things that women shouldn’t or indeed cannot freely choose to do.

The cannot is far more interesting that the shouldn’t to me because it is nonsense, but such complicated nonsense. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I have a penchant for complicated nonsense.

After all, the degree of choice a person has lies primarily in the perception of the individual. And this perception is influenced by all sorts of things; personal circumstances, and social environment as well as our personalities (and everything that influences their construction).

For example, a person might grow up next to a lake, but never swim in it.

This may be because they have never seen anybody else swim and they don’t realise it’s possible.

This may be because they have been told in no uncertain terms that it is bad to swim in the lake.

This may be because it is against the law to swim in the lake.

In any of these three circumstances, a person’s curiosity might have overcome them, even to the extent of defying the law. However, the barriers of ignorance, social conditioning and most especially the law will have made it much less likely that this person would ever swim compared to a scenario where swimming was an okay and commonplace thing to do.

So to dress. In the West, men experience far greater social restrictions on dress than women do and this has been the case for the last century or two. The primary dress requirement for a man is to make his gender completely and utterly unambiguous, an effect generally achieved by wearing the same thing as all other men, give or take the pattern of a tie. My father is not in a job with a uniform, but if he was to deviate from the norm as much as to omit the tie, he would be considered unsuitably dressed for work.

However, despite the increased potential for variation, women are far more likely to be judged according to our physical appearance in all sorts of circumstances. For example, many cultural sources would lead us to believe that what we look like is the sum total of our sexual attractiveness, and that our sexual attractiveness is the sum total of our value as people. Many books, movies and television dramas, for example, have a sole feminine character who says or does very little but look pretty until the hero falls head over heals for her. And it is deep in our consciousness; a family friend left his wife of thirty years for another woman, and all anyone could say about the new flame was to exclaim in amazement, “But she’s not even as good-looking as the wife is!”

Religious anxiety about feminine modesty supports this as much as the skimpiest modern clothes; the former states my body is a sexual object, it must be covered up and the latter states my body is a sexual object, it must be displayed. In Western society, we get a big messy mixture of these two contrary messages.

Fortunately, this isn’t the sum total of the information available to us. But a woman who absorbs this particular set of messages is likely to feel that what she looks like and thus what she wears is absolutely pivotal to who she is and what she is worth. Most of us probably pick up some of that conditioning and our choices must be diminished as a result.

The same sort of thing happens in most cultures. However, it would be completely misleading to think that one can determine motivation from what an individual is wearing.

I cannot speak for Muslim women in the UK, but there are perhaps two main ways that feminists respond to the cultural baggage of feminine attire. One is straight-forward non-compliance; to metaphorically burn the bra, to dress entirely for comfort and modesty and to forgo beauty rituals like defoliation and make-up. The niqab could arguably seen as an extreme version of this response; I refuse to be judged in this way, so you shan’t judge see anything to judge me by.

Many feminists are reluctant to do this because self-ornamentation can be a big part of human sexuality. Many men and women enjoy the potential for self-expression and sensuality through clothing, jewellery, make-up etc..

So the other response is subversion; to take some or all of the cultural baggage and find ways of turning it on its head. However, the niqab can even be used in this way; wear the niqab, but then demonstrate by action that you are nothing like the silent, submissive, uneducated woman that has been historically associated with that dress.

There isn’t any right or wrong in this. If a woman feels the need to cover up because she considers her body shameful, or because she feels that to do otherwise is to invite unwanted attention or because she feels defined by her sexual relationship to men, then that’s a sad thing.

But we can’t say, just by looking at a person, that this is the case. Nor can we really say that any of our personal choices are made in complete independance from sexist conditioning, but you'll be pleased to know that nobody can say otherwise either. From a feminist perspective, mere consciousness of these issues is half the battle.

Incidentally, religion, as set apart from culture, can’t really come into an argument about diminised choice. Logically, if a religious practice is not a choice, then no God is going to reward its obedience or punish its defiance. It is also impossible for a society to treat religious practices as particularly special, because one could declare that almost any behaviour to be excused on the grounds of religion. What we can do however, is to give one another as much freedom and respect as possible and only interfere with practices which pose an actual problem. The circumstances under which the niqab or burkha may be a problem is really another issue.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Following a brief dalliance with Classical Music, rock sensationAlexander has embarked onto a journey into the world of Glam Rock. The Goldfish talks to him about teething and his recent change of direction. Photographs by Mummy. Links to videos of varying quality on Youtube.

I meet Alexander in his grandparents' Suffolk residence, on the first leg of an East Anglian tour. On the phone his agent passes on a message from him. "Come up and see me, make me smile." he says, so when I arrive I stick my tongue out at him, which I know from press reports to be his favourite expression. He thanks me with a giggle.

Alexander surprised critics and fans alike when he decided to follow the glitter-strewn path into Glam Rock. I want to talk to him about what made him make what many consider to be a surprising move for a baby born in the mid-noughties.

“Glam Rock is the natural music for babies," he explains. "Strong, often upbeat rhythms, colourful, sparkly and comical outfits, plus those cats were speaking our language. Wig wam bam, for example, or Salamanda Palaganda - it makes about as much sense as the babble I come out with.

"Then there are so many song songs tell our story, when Mark Bolan sang 'I danced myself out of the womb', or when Wizzard sang See my baby jive, they were talking about us. Bowie asked the question 'Oh you pretty things, don't you know you're driving your Mamas and Papas insane?' Well we do know; that's exactly what babies are here for.

"There are also those songs which touch on the deepest insecurities a baby can have, such as the Sweet's Little Willy. This is very much our music."

And does Alexander feel that the fan-base that he has accumulated during his brief classical career will be prepared to put on sequinned bell-bottoms and follow him across genres? Is he not afraid of betraying his classical heritage?

"I enjoy classical music," he says, "and I still enjoy listening to my Daddy play the organ. But I needed to broaden the parameters of self-expresion. After a while I simply thought, Roll over Beethoven."

But wasn't that one by Chuck Berry? Hardly Glam Rock.

"Yes, but it was covered by the Electric Light Orchestra, among others."

Alexander has been teething, which causes him to cry a great deal of the time, often during press conferences and performances. A lesser rock star might be afraid of fans losing patience with this incessant din.

But Alexanders remains confident of his fans' loyality. "As my Mummy always says, 'I won't laugh at you when you boo-hoo-hoo 'cause I love you'. I imagine that my fans feel much the same."

The obvious distress he has experienced during the teething process has provoked speculation about Alexander’s mental stability, but Alexander laughs this off.

"I thought that was very funny when Mummy told me about what they said," he giggles, "I said mamma, but we're all crazy now! I said mamma, but we’re all crazy now! I said mamma, we’re all crazy now!"

I was a little anxious about his need to repeat himself, but I put this down to the pressures of fame, fame, fame.

As he approaches his first Christmas, Alexander is becoming more active in the social and political issues which have always concerned him. He is particularly concerned about the plight of young people and the way that they are adversely affected by an ever-changing education system and so much cultural anxiety about drugs, sex and antisocial behaviour.

It is all very well for rock stars to spout such rhetoric about an issue, but has Alexander any serious political ambitions? Is he prepared to go all the way for what he believes? He is candid in his reply.

Disclaimer: The author was born in 1980 and her knowledge of Glam Rock comes mostly from the movies Velvet Goldmine (a bizarre, sexually explicit film where Eddie Izzard is the only man without make-up) and Hedwig and the Angry Inch (the best musical on film, also rather rude in places).

Please note that the feather boa was being used as a (very successful) distraction during a medical examination, not as an attempt to humiliate the child in later life. Alexander was clearly enjoying it. He also adores the song Mr Blue Sky by the Electric Light Orchestra, which I don’t consider to be too bad a start in life. Is ELO even Glam Rock? What about Cockney Rebel? Alice Cooper? Anyone?

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Most of my travelling adventures took place when I was able to walk a bit further. There are many reasons why I haven’t used public transport since the relapse to end all relapses back in 2002, chiefly accessibility (obligations for public transport under the Disability Discrimination Act come into play in 2020). However, I guess I can use this post to talk about my experiences as someone with an invisible impairment, as I was before I began to need the wheelchair for most journeys out of the house.

I did have a mobility aid of sorts; a foldable stool which I carried on my shoulder everywhere I went – you too can have one for just £2.99. This meant that I could sit down almost whenever and wherever I went. And I did; I used to walk a bit, step out of people’s way and sit down, walk a bit further and sit down. I would also sit down at bus stops, on station platforms, waiting for a taxi, in queues, anywhere I would otherwise have to stand. This worked far better for me than having a stick or a cane, but it meant that there was no sign of a problem when I was actually on my feet.

(Incidentally, this is a very useful item to have in the house for people who struggle to stand. It is a cheap item which will eventually collapse, but I still have one in the kitchen so I can sit down while the kettle boils and that sort of thing).

Anyway, people work on what they see. In my case they saw a slim young woman with a fairly normal looking gait. Now this was no problem whatsoever, in principle. It was very often a problem in reality.

On the least disastrous end of the spectrum were things like the fact that I couldn’t give my seat up to someone who was elderly, pregnant or otherwise more frail-looking than I was. Which made me feel uncomfortable even though it is possible that nobody ever noticed. Meanwhile, nobody would automatically think to give up their seat for me and I couldn’t stand for the length of time it might take to plead my case. Nor was I ever pretty enough to make young men simply fall off their seats. So if the bus looked nearing full capacity I simply couldn’t get on.

Somewhat more problematic were the transport staff who would use my perceived fitness to cut corners. The sort of thing that wouldn’t have mattered to a fit young woman. Drivers who missed my stop if, having rung the bell, I didn’t stand up and make my way to the door well in advance. The next stop would only be 100yrds down the road, not two minutes agonising walk, not two or three extra days to recover from the trip… And then there was one particular bus-driver, who spotting this young woman at the bus stop (sat down on her foldable stool) decided not to pull in to the lay-by at all. He stopped the bus in road, holding the traffic up and shouting at me to hurry up as I crossed the road. When I told him where I was going (three or four stops away), he proposed that he should charge me double for being so bloody lazy.

On the most disastrous end of the spectrum, I struggled to get help when things went wrong. The worst train journey I ever took found me at one particular station absolutely packed with other people, tempers frayed since there were no trains and no information about when the situation might be resolved. The station staff weren’t speaking to anyone, and there was no visible sign that I was less able to cope with the situation than anyone else. In the end, my sister, who was elsewhere, phoned the rail company and described to them the conditions in which her poor crippled sister was waiting in. At which point they kindly put me in a taxi for the remaining ninety miles of my journey – for free! But honestly, I was in a rather bad state and any longer and they might have had to stretcher me off that accursed platform.

And that is the real killer for someone with my sort of condition when it comes to travelling; I could never afford for things to go dramatically wrong. I did a lot of travelling alone by train in my late teens when I was at this level of health and had total confidence in my ability to work out where I needed to be, to deal with minor set-backs, to find help and information should I need it. But the more my physical and cognitive stamina deteriorated the worse the worst case scenario became, until the last few journeys I made were taken in a state of complete anxiety.

Friday, November 24, 2006

Back home, I am rediscovering the utter tedium that is Christmas Shopping. Last year I made most of my presents so I didn't have to face this. And of course, it wasn't at all tedious earlier in the autumn when I was dealing with my good ideas presents; seeking out things which I was confident that my donees would like and appreciate. But now we're down to those people who possess very few passions or interests in life, but for whom a novelty tie would be an admission of defeat.

There is so much useless tat about. There are now two dozen on-line shops dedicated to gadgets and novelties which are amusing in concept but which you know would be lost at the back of a draw before New Year. Most of it is so dear. And yet, we really haven't sorted the ettiquette of getting charitible gifts; planting trees, buying goats, wheelchairs etc. on other people's behalfs. It is quite different if that is something someone has asked for, but if not, is it really on?

I have had at least some luck. The present I am most chuffed with is a custom-made stamp for making wax seals and a load of coloured wax for one donee who doesn't do e-mail. If you're going to live in the seventeenth century, you might as well as do it with style. And purple wax.

I must also recommend the National Gallery Shop. I think I mentioned the Create Your Own Calendar facility last year, which I think is great. They also have a collection of Hieronymous Bosch figurines - all the surreal characters from Hell. Some of their art-inspired items are less convincing. Take for example, the iconic Whistlejacket by Stubbs; not my cup of tea, but it is a pretty amazing painting.

And here is the specially commissioned soft toy which claims to represent it. Can you see the likeness? Can you any connection between that painting and this item apart from the fact that the painting features a brown four-limbed creature and this toy apparently has four limbs and is brown?

The Tate has a shop too, but it's very much dearer on account of the fact that many of the artists in their collection are still living.

And then of course Amazon is great for most people - unless they don't read books or listen to music. Or if they do, but they can never muster enough passion about books or music to make it worth me finding something for them. Which is the case with some of my donees.

Important tip to men buying gifts for women; if you look in a shop on-line and it says Gifts for Her, don't get anything from there. Gifts for Her consist of anything which is shiny, smelly, slimey, pink or made out of chocolate - and often a combination of the above. Many women do like gifts with these attributes, but there are generally better sources, places where the packaging is worth significantly less than the item; try to buy shiny things from a shiny shop, smelly and slimey things from a smelly and slimey shop and chocolates from a chocolate shop. Pink things for the over-14s? Use your own discretion.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Welcome to the 4th Disability Blog Carnival and thank you to everyone who has contributed. I hope the way I have organised this makes sense. If anybody spots any glaring mistakes or broken links, please let me know.

Different Ways of Going about Things

Disabled people are regularly attributed with various qualities which we may or may not have; bravery, pluckiness and so on. However the one quality which I have most consistantly noted among my fellow crips has been adaptibility; the ability to seek out and adjust to a different way of going about things, a different way of looking at a task or indeed life itself.

Our remarkable ability to innovate and adapt is what makes humans such fantastic and successful animals - this is not a talent exclusive to disabled people. However, as Lady Bracknell said back in April, necessity is the mother of invention, and disabled people simply have the need and opportunity to demonstrate this more than most.Different Ways of Living

To develop an impairment in adult life can mean, to be given a second chance, if you want to look at it like that. To get off the treadmill. To say, well, I can't do this-or-that any more, so what else can I do?

I've spent the majority of my life on disability income assistance. I felt ashamed and humiliated about that for a long time. It's hard to not be able to support oneself. It makes you feel sub-human, like you're not a fully functioning member of society.

She goes on to discuss the situation for people on Disability Benefits in Canada in these two subsequentposts.

When I was a certain age, I was very confused about communication. It’s hard to describe that state of mind in a language that is developed mostly through use by people who have not had the experiences I have had. Even many autistic people I know have not had this experience. I have, though. Remember, that I was not thinking these things in language. Remember also, some of these things are things I may have known before, but forgotten in one of the brain-scrambles of puberty. I have no way of knowing at this point, all I know is what it was like for me.

There is nothing particularly innovative about my rig. Rather, I knew what I wanted to be able to do and knew that the walker I was sent home with wouldn't work. I proceeded to set about finding solutions that would work for me; to give me the flexibility and freedom to achieve my goals. Search Engines and the Internet were my advisers and friends!